Pours down a storm

Nature rebels on us, pours down a storm, 
Depriving the machine of its cryo. 
To her we are no more than a vain worm, 
Peeling her down like a master's curio. 

But we have a few tricks left up our sleeves 
To probe the corners and see her naked. 
When we have counted and sorted the leaves, 
We'll understand why she's been so wicked.